


Lay your tired sorrows to the side and rest

by Colourspaz



Category: Mighty Ducks (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, im just a slut for this type of shit okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colourspaz/pseuds/Colourspaz
Summary: Wherein Bombay never goes to Chicago, the JV/Varsity game ends in a 0-0 tie, the school year drags on, and one morning, Fulton wakes up to someone in the other bed





	Lay your tired sorrows to the side and rest

After the game, he lingers in the shower far too long, but nobody points it out, because nobody notices. It’s not like he has a roommate that would notice, either. He’s reminded of that every time he walks into the room and sees the painfully bare, unused side of the room. This night isn’t any different. He forces himself to not dwell on the past and turn away, to sit at his desk and do homework until he’s got a headache and his hand is cramping. He shoves the (finished, thank god,) papers into his bag and flicks off the desk lamp. He doesn’t get up. He’s not sure why. He’s been tired lately. A weariness that goes deep into his mind and his bones. The gnawing feeling in his stomach that’s been there since the beginning of the school year pulls at his insides, reminding himself that he’s barely eaten today. Or yesterday. Or the day before that. (Or all school year.)

The old radiator turns on with a rumble, startling him out of his funk. He gets himself up and stumbles towards his bed, making sure to face the wall, as always. The wall isn’t exactly nice to look at, but it beats seeing the empty bed on the other side of the room. 

In the low light from the window, he examines his knuckles. The yellow of the bruises from three days ago is layered with the fresh purple of the ones from this evening. Most of the blood came off in the shower, but the scabs are still open, and they sting slightly. He clenches his fist and buries his arm under the covers, curling his body around it. It stings, but he’s used to it. 

He feels wetness on his face, and at first he thinks it’s his hair, still wet from the shower. But his hair’s pulled back with a rubber band, and it’s barely even damp. 

He’s crying. 

His immediate reaction is to try and stop in any way possible. He claps his hand over his mouth and nose so as to not make any noise, a reflex from when his dad still lived with them. But then he can’t breathe, and he remembers he’s in the dorms, so he eases his hand away from his face. His hands are shaking, and he can’t stop the tears. The gnawing in his stomach has turned into a hole, and it’s painful, and he can’t do anything about it. Because try as he might, he’s missing the one thing, the one _person_ that could fill it. 

He wakes up the next morning with tear tracks staining his face, his knuckles stinging, and someone in the other bed. 

~

“What the fuck.” 

He faintly recognizes his alarm clock going off in the background, and the person begins to stir. All Fulton can see is a shock of dark hair peeking out of the blankets, and he starts to reach for his hockey stick; to use it as a meager form of defense. 

And then Portman sits up, and Fulton’s heart stops. He drops the hand that was reaching for his hockey stick and a voice in the back of his mind tells him this is only a dream.

And Fulton has a million things to say. To ask. But the one he stubbornly chooses is “...Portman?”

Portman turns and faces him, hair rumpled with sleep and eyes only half-open, and Fulton’s not sure how he’s still breathing, honestly. 

Portman breaks into a grin. “G’morning.”

Fulton blinks.

“What...what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were staying in Chicago!”

“Yeah, I know. That was the worst mistake of my life. I felt terrible about it.” 

Fulton’s angry now, and he doesn’t know why. He shouldn’t be angry at Portman, but he can’t hold in his words anymore. 

“You felt terrible? How do you think I felt?! I’ve never had anyone like you before, I’ve never had a best friend and this school year is hard enough already and the work is so much and our new coach is...well, he’s better now, but he’s no Bombay and nobody talks to me unless it’s necessary and I might as well not even be on the Ducks because nobody _fucking_ cares enough to notice me except for Varsity, because they take it upon themselves to make my life _hell_ every single day and I can’t even sleep without facing the wall because then I’ll see the empty bed and remember that you didn’t come because I screwed up and I’m terrible and a failure and...and…” 

He breaks off into a choking sob, and Portman grabs his shoulders and pulls him close. Fulton leans into the touch, his arms clinging to Portman like he’s starved. Which he is, Portman assumes. He’s heard the term touch-starved before, but he didn’t think it would be this bad. 

Portman’s moving his hands through Fulton’s hair and Fulton’s murmuring something against his neck and he didn’t think it was possible to miss a person, a _feeling_ as much as he missed this. 

They stand there for a while, listening to the other boys in the building wake up around them. They both jump and leap apart when someone knocks on the door. 

“Fulton, you ready yet?” Kenny asks from the other side of the door. 

“Go down to breakfast without me. I’ll be there today, promise.” Fulton responds. 

They hear Kenny’s footsteps fade and then they’re left in an awkward silence. 

“So…we should probably get dressed.” Fulton says. Portman nods and turns to his duffel bag on the ground, unzipping it and grabbing some clothes. They dress in silence, the air thick with awkward tension. 

Fulton grabs his bag and reaches for the door, but Portman grabs his wrist. 

“What?”

Portman swallows, looking tense. 

“I need to know if you meant it. What you said that last night in LA. What we did.” 

Fulton stands there in stunned silence.

“Of...of course I did. I thought that _you_ didn’t mean it! Isn’t that why you stayed away?”

Portman pulls him in by his wrist and kisses him. 

Fulton kisses him back and _god_ , it’s even better than he remembered. When they finally break apart, they can’t help but burst into laughter. 

“We’re idiots.” Fulton laughs. 

“Complete morons.” Portman agrees. Fulton kisses him one last time and then opens the door, and they head down to the cafeteria. 

As soon as they come in range of the Ducks’ table, there is a raised chorus of “What the fuck?” and “What?” and “Wait, since when?” 

They just laugh. 

From then on, if anyone notices that Fulton is quicker to smile, to laugh, that he talks more, they don’t say anything. They all know why it is, and they’re happy for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said I'm a slut for hurt comfort also I like tourturing my characters
> 
> Find me on tumblr @colourspaz I post more Bashslash it’s just way less articulate


End file.
